


gonna help you be free, honey

by lamourestout



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamourestout/pseuds/lamourestout
Summary: it's hard to stand up.(or: the aftermath of 3.05)(tw for the aftermath of a gaybashing hate crime)
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 13
Kudos: 317





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't a light fic. tw for talks of what happened to robbe & sander, talks of their injuries, and robbe's internalized homophobia rears its ugly head.  
however, since we care about our characters here, they find comfort in each other, and those around them.

It takes him too long to get his legs to curl in against his chest, jeans catching on the rough road, and he’s trying to hide. Hide himself and the pain and the sobs that make his chest hurt where he can feel skin bruising already. All parts of him are shaking, and he’s pretty sure this is what  _ shock  _ is; he’s cold and there’s blood in his mouth that threatens to choke him, and his body shakes violently with sobs. 

He can’t even get himself up to see if Sander is alright. He’s too busy hiding. 

“Robbe?” It’s a long time before he hears Sander’s voice. It’s a long time before he hears movement, before he hears the choked up sound of Sander’s voice, the quiet sob that Sander’s throat lets loose. It echoes horribly against the buildings. “Robbe?” Sander repeats, and there’s the sound of his boots scraping against the road. 

Robbe’s voice echoes in a sob. 

“Is your head bleeding?” There’s no  _ are you okay?  _ No fancy beating around the bush. They don’t have that luxury. He doesn’t want to uncurl from his safety. “Robbe?” Sander says his name again and he thinks he’s going to die. He can’t find his voice. Instead, another sob breaks from his throat.

He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe. His hands cover his face, hiding further away, his diaphragm has sharp pain when he pulls his legs in closer. Sander touches his hair, but he jerks away, suddenly horribly afraid that the guys will come back. That someone else will see. 

“Sorry.” Sander says. His voice is light and on the verge of cracking. He has to get up. He knows that. He can’t call someone. He has to get up. 

“Sorry.” Robbe finally chokes out, and shakes as he pushes himself up. As he sits up on the cold road and clenches his jaw to avoid a sob from how much every part of his body hurts. His hand pressed against the ground to keep him upright. It’s cold and there’s a wind, now, that makes everything colder than it was before. He can’t even look at Sander. He can’t look up, head hanging. He has to turn to spit out the blood in his mouth. 

“Fuck.” Sander says. “Fuck.” His boots scrape on the road, and when Robbe risks a glace up, Sander has his knees pulled up, head buried against them. He’s afraid that he’ll see blood in Sander’s hair. 

He doesn’t even know what to say. He doesn’t know what he can say. Everything has shattered and he doesn’t know how he goes on from this. How he gets up and goes home. How he goes to school on Monday. Who he tells. What he tells them. 

So instead he moves, moves to kneeling on bruised knees, and touches Sander’s hair, fingers brushing down the side of his face. Sander jerks away a little. Lifts his head. Robbe isn’t surprised. He sits back. Still trying to catch his breath, keep the sobs from getting out of his throat, but his breathing isn’t steady. He lets his hand drop to his side. 

There’s blood on Sander’s face and his heart is breaking. 

He’s never felt so much in so many different directions in such a small amount of time. 

Sander’s hand reaches up to brush away the blood dripping from his nose. It smears on his skin and Robbe thinks he’s going to be sick. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. Sander swallows. “I’m sorry.” He repeats. He doesn’t know what else to say. His chest catches when another sob breaks out. 

“It’s not your fault.” He’s never heard Sander’s voice like that. It makes him more afraid. “I wasn’t fast enough.” That makes him even more afraid. His breath is shaky when he looks up at Robbe. 

“It’s not ━” He’s still shaking. He doesn’t know what to say, “Either━ of our faults.” Trembling words. Even if it feels like it’s their fault for kissing in the street. For touching each other and being close to each other.

He should have fucking known. 

“You ━ you can come back to my place.” He wants to be strong and steady and not be so afraid, but he’s fucking terrified. But he wants to let Sander have someplace to go. Just in case. In case going home in this kind of state would cause problems. 

“Okay.” Sander says. Robbe thinks he’s shivering, the wind pushing under his hair, pushing against his skin and making him shake even more. 

“Okay.” He repeats. 

He still thinks he might be sick. 

He finds himself looking around, head swirling when he moves a bit too fast. But he has to make sure no one is around them. 

He really might be sick.

But there’s no one around. Not right now. But they didn’t notice the guys before, so he could just be stupid. 

“How far?” Sander asks, and Robbe can’t even think clearly. 

“I don’t know ━” He comes out in a sob, a choked off sob, and everything is spinning around him. Maybe he hit his head harder than he though. “I don’t know ━” 

“Robbe ━” Sander says his name again, “Hey.” His voice is also choked. 

“Sorry ━” He thinks he won’t stop saying it. 

“Let’s get up.” Sander says. “Let’s get up.” Sander doesn’t touch him, but pushes himself up, a little gasp leaving his lips. “Robbe.” Robbe looks up at him, and he can’t breathe. “Here.” Sander offers his hand. He’s struggling to keep his breath. 

He takes Sander’s hand. Sander helps him to his feet, even if he stumbles right away. It all hurts a lot more standing up. His hand tightens around Sander’s. 

“We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” Sander seems to be repeating it more for himself than Robbe. 

Somehow, they make it back to Robbe’s apartment building. Bikes thrown off to the side, because their locks are laying on the ground by the bar. He doesn’t give a single shit about whether his bike is stolen or not. He doesn’t care. They make it up the stairs, with Sander’s arm around Robbe’s waist to help him stay up. 

They make it to the front door, and Robbe can’t remember where his keys are. He can’t remember how the fuck to even get the door open. So he knocks. He doesn’t know what time it is. He just knocks. Sander knocks, too.

Milan opens the door. There’s a split second where he doesn’t react, but then there’s panic on his face. 

“Oh, fuck.” Robbe can only think about how Milan doesn’t know who Sander is, yet. 

“This is Sander.” He manages, as they’re helping him get into the apartment. 

“Okay.” Milan says.

“We ━ there were these guys ━ I ━” Sander’s stumbling around for some sort of words, but he can’t find them, and it only makes Robbe want to be sick even more. 

“I’m sorry ━” Robbe finds himself saying again, to Milan this time. 

“Milan?” It’s Zoë, now, coming out of her and Senne’s room, and Senne is right behind her, and Robbe can’t  _ fucking breathe _ . “Robbe?” She sounds completely taken aback, and then she says, “Sander?” 

He can’t breathe. He lets out a sob. Everyone else stops. It goes silent. 

“I’m sorry ━” He repeats again. Milan has one arm around his waist, and Sander has one, and he feels like he can’t stand on his own. A collection of voices, then, and he can’t even think of how to organize them. But they’re helping him towards his room, and he thinks Zoë must be disappearing off to the bathroom to grab ━  _ something _ . He can’t even think. 

“What happened?” Milan must be focused more on Sander, because Robbe thinks he’s more coherent. He doesn’t really know. He can’t tell. He’s settled down on his bed, and despite everything, he can’t find himself with the strength to let himself be seperated from Sander, because he’s fucking  _ scared _ . Hand finds the sleeve of Sander’s jacket, clenches, and won’t let go. Sander’s hand finds his, and covers it with his own. 

“We were ━ hanging out ━” Sander hesitates a little. 

“You can tell him.” Robbe says quietly. “He knows.” 

“What about ━”  _ The other two _ , is implied, and Sander turns towards him a little, Milan ignored for a moment. 

“They don’t but ━” He nearly chokes, “I don’t care.” 

“We were on a date.” Sander says quietly, turning back towards Milan. “And when we were leaving, some guys saw us kissing. And beat us up.” He says it quickly. Efficiently. Before Zoë and Senne come into the room. 

“Okay.” Milan says. Robbe lifts his head. 

“I’m sorry. Again. For what I said.” Robbe tells Milan. “I’m really sorry.” He finds the words exiting on a sob again. 

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” Milan dismisses it. Robbe doesn’t know how he  _ can  _ dismiss it. Robbe is going to talk about it to him. He has to apologize for real. He feels sick. 

He feels sick. 

And then Zoë is sitting down on the bed next to Sander, and Senne is next to Robbe, and they both have washclothes in their hands, and there are too many fucking  _ people  _ in his room, and when Senne says something quietly, says he’s going to touch Robbe to help clean his face off, he starts crying again. 

Cause he’s a crybaby. He’s weak and he’s stupid and he feels sick. 

His hand unclenches from Sander’s sleeve, and he’s folding in on himself, face buried in his hands, elbows digging into pained thighs, and he can’t stop shaking. Senne is motionless beside him, and he’s sure he’s looking over them at Zoë for some indication as to what to do. 

“Robbe?” It’s Milan. No one touches him, but he’s sure they’re all staring, because he’s acting like a child. He’s crying and hiding and a sob is let out of his throat that makes him flush with shame. 

“I can’t breathe ━” He lets out. It’s all too much. It’s all too much all at once and he can’t handle it. He doesn’t know how to fix this. How to make things better or how to catch his breath or stop crying and ━-  _ He can’t fucking breathe _ . 

“Robbe?” Sander says his voice different than anyone else ever has. The bed shifts a bit, and he thinks Senne gets up. Maybe Zoë, too. His hand finds Robbe’s forearm. It helps a little bit, “They’re going to leave us be, for a bit.” Sander’s voice is immeasurably quiet, and Robbe somehow hears the click of his door, but he still hasn’t lifted his face. 

“I’m sorry.” He says again, and Sander’s hand slides up his arm. 

“You don’t have any reason to be.” Sander tells him. 

Robbe finds his way to Sander’s chest, hands still covering his face, but burying himself even deeper against the other boy’s chest, desperate for comfort or help or something that he doesn’t think he can get anywhere else. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, the way his body bends and turns, especially with growing bruises, but Sander pulls his arms around him, fingers bunching in his jacket. 

They’re both still wearing their jackets.

And their shoes. 

Sander shakes a little. 

“We’re okay.” Sander whispers. “We’re okay.” Robbe’s hands slowly come off of his face, burying his face against Sander’s shoulder, hands gripping his t-shirt. “Just breathe. Follow my breathing.” Sander’s hands are tightly bunched in the fabric of his jacket. 

“Okay.” His voice is horribly muffled, and tries to follow Sander’s breathing, tries to use the beat of his heat to steady himself. He wonders how Sander knows what to do. How he knows how to break into Robbe’s brain and stop the non-stop fear. The swelling fear, the panic in the bottom of his lungs. In the pit of his stomach. 

“We’re safe now.” Sander breathes out, and one hand unclenches from Robbe’s jacket, sliding to his hair and brushing through it lightly. “You just need to breathe, for me.” 

“Okay.” He repeats. Breathes in Sander’s scent. Keeps his eyes tightly shut, and his fingers tight around his shirt. 

It takes a while, but eventually he feels his chest loosen a bit. He feels a bit less like he’s about to throw up. Less like he’s stuck and trapped and trying to run in a dream, slow and slow and slow until the bad guy catches up with him, throwing him back to the ground. 

And when he feels his breath come back, he’s pulling back. Sander’s hands loosen on him, falling to his thigh when he moves far enough back to look at him in the eye. One of Sander’s hands is gentle, moving to brush the tears off of his cheek. It stays resting on his cheek after. 

“Are  _ you  _ okay?” He says quietly. Sander isn’t quite meeting his eyes, instead they dart to other parts of Robbe’s face, his neck. 

“No.” Sander says. “But ━ I will be.” He lets out a deep exhale. Eyes fall shut for a moment, and then he looks at Robbe. “It’s okay.” He lets his thumb brush over Robbe’s skin. He wants to scream  _ no, it’s not. It’s not okay and I’m not okay, and you’re not okay, and I’m fucking terrified _ . 

“Do ━ Can you stay ━ tonight?” Robbe asks. Eyes dipping from Sander’s gaze. He’s afraid, so fucking afraid, but he’s more afraid for Sander to walk home by himself. 

“Yeah.” Sander whispers. 

“Thank you.” Robbe breathes out. Finds himself leaning forward again, to rest his head against Sander’s shoulder again. Sander’s arms are around him again, and he’s pulling him on top of him, falling backwards onto Robbe’s bed. Robbe’s hand bunch in the front of Sander’s shirt again, legs awkwardly tangled and half their bodies off the bed, but he can’t let go right now. 

They stay there for a while. Sander holding him tightly, one hand eventually moving back up to his hair to thread his fingers through it. 

“Boys?” It’s Milan again, knocking at the door quietly, and only cracking the door open. “Can I come in?” Robbe can’t even think of what time it must be. He can faintly smell tea. Maybe Milan has been sitting up this whole time. He hopes he sent Zoë and Senne to bed because he doesn’t want everyone to be tired because of him. He nods against Sander’s chest, hoping Sander will reply. Be his voice for him right now. 

“Yeah.” Sander says. The light from the hallway comes in a bit more, and then fades away. Robbe pushes himself up. Takes a deep breath. Sits back up, moves off of Sander. Sander sits up. 

No one says anything for a bit. Milan moves across the room, and drags Robbe’s computer chair back so he can sit in front of them. 

“I’m Milan.” He offers his hand to Sander. An introduction. Sander hesitates only a second, but shakes his hand.

“Sander.” Milan nods. 

“The boyfriend?” Milan turns to Robbe, and Robbe feels his cheeks flush, because he and Sander haven’t  _ technically  _ talked about labels, but he nods, breathes out, 

“Yeah.” And hopes that Sander doesn’t hate him. He must not, because Sander’s hand reaches to rest on his waist, clenching in his jacket, and knocks his shoulder against Robbe’s gently. He turns his head very slightly towards Sander, murmurs, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Sander whispers. 

“Are you two okay?” Milan asks. His voice tells Robbe that he knows they’re not. Robbe swallows hard. 

“We ━” Glances at Sander, “Will be.” Echoing Sander’s words. Milan seems to be formulating words, formulating a bunch of words.  _ Sentences _ , Robbe, don’t start forgetting words now. 

“I sent Zoë and Senne back to bed. You can go clean up, now. If you want. You should.” Milan says. Robbe nods. They’re all quiet again. Like Milan wants to say something but doesn’t know how to. Like Robbe wants to say something, but doesn’t know how. Like Sander feels awkward and weird and his hand clenches a little more in the back of Robbe’s jacket. It’s just breathing, and Robbe feels sick again. 

“Milan ━” He starts. 

“You guys know this isn’t your fault, right?” Milan doesn’t let him start. Milan hadn’t looked Robbe in the eye yet, but now he does. It’s so serious, his words, that Robbe can’t breathe. “You’re not in the wrong. You have a right to be open with who you love.” Robbe feels sick. He feels sick because he was so, so, so horrible to Milan yesterday, and now Milan is sitting here, making sure Robbe feels okay after he got beat up. 

“Yeah.” He barely gets the word out. Sander just nods. 

“It’s not your fault, and you can report this.” Milan says. His voice is heavy, and Robbe can’t look at him. He knows he probably should, but he can’t think about this. “I would go with you. Zoë and Senne would come, too.” He says. Robbe feels his breathing catch again, speed up, and he’s trying to find Sander’s hand, desperate for a lifeline before he starts freaking out again. 

“Okay.” Sander’s hand finds his, holding tightly. “Thank you.” He says. 

“Tell me if you need anything.” Milan says. Milan gets up. Milan exits the room. He doesn’t know what he would say if Milan kept talking, not because he’s doing anything wrong, Robbe just can’t  _ handle everything  _ right now. 

“Are ━” He turns towards Sander. 

“We can figure that out, later.” Sander tells him. “Right now, I kind of just want to sleep.” Sander doesn’t move at all, but his hand unclechnes from Robbe’s jacket, instead, moving in gentle movements. “If that’s alright.” He sounds a bit more hesitant than he has before. 

“Okay. Yeah.” Robbe nods. “If you want to borrow something to wear, you can.” He says quietly. He’s worried that his clothes might be a bit too short, too small for Sander, but he’s not going to  _ not  _ offer. 

They’re breaking away from each other. Robbe slides his jacket off his shoulder, and pushes himself standing, shaking a little, and reaches his hand out, and Sander somehow understands, pulling his own jacket off and handing it to Robbe. Robbe moves his desk chair back to it’s original place and sets their jackets on it. He’s kicking his shoes off, tossing them in a corner somewhere, and Sander is bent over to untie his boots. 

“I never said ━ I really like your boots.” He says quietly. Sander looks up at him, and there’s a little smile that drifts onto his lips. 

“Thanks.” Robbe’s hands twist a little in front of him. 

“Do you want to borrow something?” Sander has gotten both his boots off, pushing them off to the side against Robbe’s wall. 

Everything feels weird now. Everything feels weird and he is desperate for everything to not be weird, and for him to not now associate touching Sander, kissing him, being close to him, with the pain in his chest, in the way it hurts to breathe. 

“Sure.” Sander stands, and worries his lip. 

“Okay.” Robbe turns, finds his dresser, digs out a pair of sweatpants that are a bit big on him. Digs out a t-shirt. Turns back around and moves back to stand in front of Sander and offer the clothes to him. Their fingers brush as he hands them over, and it makes him smile just barely. 

“Thank you.” Sander says. Robbe steps away, and turns away, and lets Sander have privacy, digging out a pair of sweatpants for himself, his shirt he normally wears to bed. It hurts a bit when he pulls his shirt off, his ribs aching, his diaphragm sharp with pain, and he tries not to make any sound because he doesn’t want to worry Sander. But he gets his clothes changed. He tosses the dirty clothes in the direction of his laundry basket. 

“Can I turn around?” He doesn’t know if Sander wanted privacy or not, but he figures he’d give it to him, nonetheless. 

“Yeah.” The sweatpants are an inch or two too short on Sander’s ankles, and he feels just a little better seeing Sander wearing one of his favorite shirts. 

“I ━” He stumbles a little, but finds his way back to Sander, reaching out to brush his fingers along the collar of the shirt. Sander lifts his hand, taking a hold of Robbe’s, and lifting it up to press a kiss against his knuckles. It makes Robbe’s breath catch. “I ━” He tries again. He can’t find any words. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Sander murmurs. Robbe wants to say something, but he doesn’t know  _ what  _ to say. He wants to be able to help, he wants to be able to say something to Sander to somehow make things a little better. 

“I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what to say.” His other hand goes to rest on Sander’s chest. “I ━ don’t know.” His mind is too busy racing, but not racing, and he just doesn’t want to get worked up, he doesn’t want to be back to not being able to breathe. 

“It’s okay.” Sander says. “We don’t have to talk right now.” He’s moving slightly closer, their toes touching, “It’s okay.” He repeats. Robbe stares at his chin. He nods. 

He feels like he should keep apologizing. 

“Let’s go to sleep.” Sander says before he’s able to launch into more apologies. 

“Okay.” Robbe agrees.

They find themselves in Robbe’s bed, tucked under his covers, messing with the pillows until they’re set up perfectly for the both of them, and Sander presses a gentle kiss against Robbe’s cheek whenever he gasps a little because all of the adrenaline has finally worn off, and now he’s just tired. Tired and hurting and aching. 

He’s never done this before. 

Slept next to someone. 

It’s a little stressful. But Sander is gentle in all of his movements. Sander takes care of him, even if he’s desperate to take care of Sander. 

“Can I kiss you?” Sander whispers, when he finally finds a way to lay that hurts the least, and Sander has himself propped up on his elbow to look at him. Robbe’s eyes drop down to Sander’s lips, and back up to the darkening around his eye. 

“Yeah.” He exhales the word, and Robbe’s hand finds Sander’s arm under the covers, resting on it as his boyfriend leans down to press a light kiss against his lips. He lifts up his chin to meet him, and Sander’s hand moves to rest against his cheek, Robbe’s hand still resting on his arm. 

It’s all slow. Slow and gentle. 

It’s enough to make him be able to breathe again. Breathe, even with Sander’s lips moving slowly against his own. 

It hurts a little when he wraps his arms around Sander and pulls him close to have him rest on his chest. But it hurts more  _ not  _ to. Sander shifts so that he’s resting against Robbe, instead of on him. Robbe’s hands clench in Sander’s shirt, and he buries his face against the other boy’s hair. Their legs tangle together. Sander’s breath is warm through the light fabric of Robbe’s t-shirt. 

He’s afraid. He’s fucking  _ terrified _ . But they’re both here. Sander is here. Sander is breathing against his chest. His arms are around him. They’re  _ boyfriends _ , which makes his heart both jump in delight and pound in desperate fear. Sander turns a little, pressing a kiss against Robbe’s collarbone. He thinks Sander’s eyes close. His don’t. He stares out the window, at the distant, hidden moon, for a long time. 


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the ep6 saturday morning that we deserved.

When he wakes up, everything hurts. All of his muscles have dried into stiffness. His hand clenched in the loose fabric of Sander’s shirt, and Sander’s arm tightens around him as he shifts a little closer, still asleep. He never closed his curtains last night, and so the rising sun is hitting his face, and he turns, hiding his face against Sander’s hair. 

He drifts off a little more, but eventually can’t ignore it anymore. He has to get up. At least take a look at how bad everything is. He extracts himself from Sander’s arms, and he suddenly feels cold, horribly cold, when he sits up. He listens to Sander groan a little, light confusion leaving his lips as he moves around in his sleep a little. Robbe stands up before Sander can reach for him. 

He’ll come back.

He just has to take a minute. He grabs his shit and begs for no one to be in the hall, in the bathroom, and  _ thankfully  _ there isn’t.

He takes a shower. He’s pretty sure his eyes are closed for most of it; he’s afraid to look, because his whole torso aches. His legs ache. His head aches and there’s a raw cut on his face that he noticed in the mirror. 

His limbs are heavy, his head is heavy, and his eyes feel raw and painful. 

He finally gets out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist because he needs to make sure there’s nothing too bad on his torso. 

He feels sick looking at himself in the mirror. 

Suddenly the door is opening and he’s pissed off because no one  _ fucking knocks here _ , and he’s biting out words before he realizes it’s Zoë and he’s pulling all of his words back. 

“Sorry ━” He turns away. It’s all so much worse now that he’s not in shadows. 

“Come here.” Zoë’s words leave no room for arguing. He can’t look at her, but she’s moving past him to rummage for a bandage, and she’s gently taping it over the cut on his face. “I’m here if you need it.” She pushes his wet hair out of his eyes. “Rest.” She tells him. She doesn’t pry and he’s wonderfully grateful for that. Robbe leaves the bathroom. 

Sander is still in his room, though he’s rolled over. He’s messing with his phone and he’s awake, and his hair is everywhere. But there’s just a little bit of the dried blood still under his nose and Robbe might cry. 

“Hi, cutie.” Sander smiles at him. He looks up at Robbe, props himself up more, and  _ smiles  _ at him. 

“Hi.” Robbe breathes out. He suddenly feels very self-conscious about ━ he’s just wearing a towel. He’s flushing. “Can ━ can you ━ I need to get dressed.” He’s looking at the ground. 

“Oh, yeah.” Sander says, and there’s movement on the bed. “Okay. I’m not looking.” Sander’s voice is humorous, but very muffled, and when Robbe looks up, his face is buried in the pillow. 

They’ve literally been completely naked around each other, but skinny dipping is a lot different than him just ━  _ dropping his towel _ . He can’t do that. He ━  _ can’t _ . 

“Thanks.” He says quietly, and he’s moving to his dresser, quickly dropping his towel and pulling on boxers and digging out a pair of joggers. 

“Robbe ━” Sander’s voice is less muffled, and Robbe looks back, over his shoulder, Sander’s eyes seem to be closed, but he’s moved a little so he can be heard clearer. He has a sweatshirt in his hands. “Can I ━” Robbe turns around, arms folded over his chest, holding the sweatshirt close. Sander doesn’t look up, arm around the pillow, and keeping his eyes closed. Robbe almost says something, but doesn’t. Moves until he’s sitting on the bed again, legs folding in front of him, and his back bends a little, keeps his arms crossed tight over his chest. 

“You can look.” He says, and Sander’s moving quickly, still smiling and cheery.  _ How?  _ How? He’s sitting up on his own, the sweatpants he borrowed riding up his calves. 

“Hi, there.” Sander smiles, he’s smiling and Robbe feels like his chest is hot, and he’s catching his breath in his throat. Sander’s moving closer, sitting up on his knees, and brushing his hand over Robbe’s cheek, before tracing over the bandaid. Robbe has to lift his chin up a little to look at him. “Hi.” He repeats. Robbe can’t quite breathe right. “You took a shower.” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t want to say  _ I felt dirty _ . Beyond the dirt on his face. 

But Sander sits back on his heels and smiles gently at him, pushing his hair back a little, and it’s gone. That feeling is gone. There’s no  _ I feel dirty _ . 

“Come here.” Sander says, pulling Robbe close, and burying his face in Robbe’s hair. “You smell nice.” It’s muffled. Robbe’s eyes close tightly, and he can feel his breathing start to go uneven. It’s a moment, and then Sander is pulling back. “Lay down.” He isn’t commanding, instead, gently looking at Robbe, helping him lay back against the pillows, and his fingers are gentle along his skin when he gasps because it  _ hurts _ . His arms still hold his sweatshirt tight against his chest. 

“Sorry.” He says again. He doesn’t quite look at Sander, instead his head rolls to the side to stare past his desktop, out the window. 

“No.” Robbe frowns, and turns his head, neck aching. “No, you don’t have to apologize to me.” Sander is staring at him and Robbe can’t keep looking at him. It’s too much. “ _ Shit happens _ , okay?  _ Shit happens _ .” Sander’s hand finds Robbe’s hand, tightly clenched in the fabric of his sweatshirt. It’s gentle. “What matters is ━” His voice gets quieter, “What matters is ━ we just have a couple bruises.” It makes all the air suck out of Robbe’s lungs because they could ━  _ they could have ━  _ “And each other.” Sander says. 

_ And each other _ . Oh, god, Robbe can’t breathe. But he finds Sander’s eyes again. He nods quickly.  _ And each other. _ Sander’s face softens even more, and Robbe finally loosens his hand a little, turning it so he can grasp Sander’s hand instead. 

“And each other ━” He echoes, voice barely audible, because he can’t believe he’s able to have this. Able to have  _ Sander _ . Despite ━ despite what happened. He can’t believe he’s  _ allowing himself  _ to have this, and want this, and indulge in it. 

“Yeah.” Sander murmurs. 

It’s just that for a moment. Them, staring at each other, Sander’s face so soft and warm, despite the darkening bruise around his eye. The sun falls into his room and hits Sander’s hair in a perfect way. 

Then Sander’s face breaks into a grin that’s even more, “Here ━” Sander’s hands are moving to pull a little at the sweatshirt Robbe still has plastered to his chest. 

“What?” His hand tightens a little more. Sander stops, he blinks heavily, 

“I just want to make sure you’re alright.” He says quietly. Despite the  _ shit happens _ and  _ we only got bruises _ . 

“Okay.” Robbe finally agrees. Sander’s lips fall back into their smile, and his hands are gentle, taking the sweatshirt out of Robbe’s arms, letting his arms fall to his sides. He can feel his face flushing, because Sander is looking at him; his chest is bare, but also ━ he’s seen how his torso looks. 

He watches as Sander looks at him, watches Sander’s eyes, watches his jaw clench very slightly. Sander’s hand reaches out and lightly touches the growing bruise on his side. Robbe doesn’t let himself gasp, teeth clenching, instead. His breath catches and Sander notices, his finger tracing around the injury. Sander looks up at him. Robbe can’t meet his eye. 

“Hey ━” Sander says, “Hey...” He’s reaching up, bending over a bit to rest his hand on Robbe’s cheek. “Robbe...” 

“I’m sorry.” He says again. He can’t  _ stop apologizing _ . He can feel his eyes prickle with tears.

“No apologizing to me.” Sander says again. Robbe bites down more apologies. Sander leans down and after a moment, presses a kiss to Robbe’s lips. “No apologizing to me.” He repeats, quieter, and presses kisses along his jaw. A kiss on the bruise that’s on his cheek. 

And then he’s moving, a kiss against Robbe’s neck that makes all of his breath leave his chest, and Sander presses a kiss against the bruises on his chest. He moves down a bit more, a kiss against the largest bruise on his side, and Robbe’s squirming away. 

“Wait ━ I don’t want you to ━” He’s stumbling a bit, and stumbling even more when Sander lifts his head up. “I ━” Sander sits up, his face gentle. 

“I wasn’t going to ━” Robbe finds himself with his eyes falling shut, and a big of a laugh pushes out of his throat. Sander hesitates a little, but he’s laughing lightly after a moment. 

“S━” He cuts himself off before he says  _ sorry _ . “Come here.” He breathes out, instead. Eyes falling back open, and he reaches for Sander, who obliges. He comes down, presses their lips together. 

He lets himself relish it for a few minutes before he has to pull back. His thoughts won’t let him keep doing this.

“Are we going to report this?” He’s proud of himself for actually being able to say it. Ask it. 

“No.” Sander says immediately. It makes Robbe frown, pull back more. Sander sits back. “I couldn’t identify them, and  _ anyway _ , the police don’t care. They won’t do anything.” He pauses, “Can you identify them?” Robbe pauses, shakes his head. “ _ Shit happens _ , Robbe.” Sander repeats his words from before. “ _ Shit happens _ . It ━ could have been worse.” 

Robbe still doesn’t want to think about that. Think about what would have happened, what  _ could  _ have happened. It makes him reach for Sander, grip the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t want  _ shit to happen _ . 

“All that matters ━” Sander says again, his hand covering Robbe’s, “━ we’re here. Together. We’re okay.” Robbe nods. He’s still fucking  _ terrified _ . 

He’s pushing himself up, breathing catching a little, but he’s reaching for his sweatshirt. Sander sits back a bit more. Robbe pulls his sweatshirt over his head, and leans back against the pillows. 

“Let’s just chill and listen to Bowie. Because Bowie makes everything better.” Sander’s messing with his phone, and Robbe is biting his lip, thinking of the playlist Sander made him. “Your playlist?” Sander’s eyes sparkle despite everything. Despite  _ everything _ . He still looks like  _ that _ . 

“Okay.” 

“Maybe you’ll learn it a bit better with me here.” Sander teases, and Robbe rolls his eyes a little. “It’s easier to learn one-on-one.” Sander says, pressing play. 

He doesn’t recognize the song, but his Bowie studying has been rather back-and-forth. Sander moves, finding his own position to lay down in, tossing his phone to the end of the bed, and pulling Robbe to him. Pulling him over so Robbe’s laying partially on top of Sander, resting his head against Sander’s shoulder. Their legs tangle, and Robbe’s hand clenches in his t-shirt. 

Sander’s hand finds his hair, stroking through it. 

They’re quiet for a bit, just the sound of music playing through Sander’s phone speakers. 

“ _ Ground Control to Major Tom ... Ground Control to Major Tom _ ...” Sander starts singing lightly. He trails off a little, the song continuing, “ _ This is Ground Control to Major Tom ... You’ve really made the grade ... And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear... Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare...”  _ He keeps singing, stroking Robbe’s hair the whole time, “ _ And the stars look very different.. Today.. _ .” 

It makes Robbe curl in against him, more. He’s going to relish in this comfort as long as he can; he doesn’t know what Monday will bring. He’s going to listen to Sander’s voice, only think about the feeling of his fingers stroking through Robbe’s hair, and build a bubble around them through that. 

“ _ And I think my spaceship knows which way to go ...”  _ And suddenly he’s changing the lyrics, “ _ Telling you I love you very much... _ ”  **She knows** .  _ He  _ knows. He’s pretty sure his heart stops. He can’t even find it in himself to say,  _ those aren’t the lyrics _ . 

He just can’t breathe because Sander said  _ I love you _ in a very pointed way. 

It probably doesn’t mean anything. 

But, suddenly there’s a knock at the door, and he’s breaking out of Sander’s arms, sitting up despite the pain at Senne’s, “Can I come in?” He’s moving away from Sander, making sure they’re not touching. 

“Yeah.” 

Senne opens the door, closing the door behind him. 

“Did ━ Zoë send you?” Robbe moves away from Sander a bit more, finding himself sitting up on the edge of the bed. Senne looks like he’s about to deny it, but then says, 

“Yeah.” 

He hopes that Senne was tired last night. He hopes that Senne doesn’t ━ He wants to push all these thoughts down; he’s trying to be open, he’s  _ trying _ , but he’s  _ afraid. _ Sander moves, pulling his legs back up, propping against the wall. 

Sander is wearing his clothes.

But he doesn’t think Senne knows what all his clothes look like.

He’s trying not to panic. 

Senne and him stare for a minute. 

“Where did it happen?” Senne finally says. 

“Ossenmarkt.” 

“Guys from the elitist school?” 

“Yeah.” He’s begging himself not to look at Sander. 

“Weird.” And Robbe backtracks a little, 

“I ━ I think, I think so. It all happened so fast.” Robbe clenches his hand in the duvet cover, looks away from Senne. 

“I just didn’t see anything on Instagram.” 

“We were just riding by ━ we got caught up in it.” Senne nods.

“Wrong place, wrong time.” Robbe feels sick. “But I’ll figure it out for you.” Robbe finds himself shooting to his feet, trying to stop him.

“Just leave it, Senne. They ━ they won’t say anything. You won’t be able to find them, anyway.” Senne stares at him for a minute. 

“Then go to the police.” Robbe’s hands clench at his side because he doesn’t  _ know  _ what to do. 

“There’s no point.” 

“Robbe...” Senne starts, and Robbe doesn’t want to do this right now, “You can’t just leave it. They won’t stop shitting on you.” Robbe’s hands are shaking. 

“They ━ we won’t find them. It’s fine. Not even the cops ━” He’s trying to echo what Sander said. 

“There’s cameras all over the city.” It makes Robbe panic even more, because if Senne starts  _ looking _ , that means him and Sander kissing is on a camera somewhere. 

“No ━” He steps forward again, “I checked that ━” He feels his voice raise a little. “It’s fine.” 

“Hey, hey ━ It’s okay. Stay calm.” Senne says. “It’s okay. Just don’t let them shit on you.” 

“Yeah.” Robbe says.

“If ━” Robbe notices Senne’s eyes dart to look at Sander behind him, and Robbe feels the panic swelling in his stomach, “There’s anything you want to talk about, you know where I live.” Robbe doesn’t say anything else, but Senne offers a small smile, before he’s leaving the room. The door quietly closes behind him. 

Robbe takes a deep breath in, shaky, and his hands shake where he clenches them by his side. The bed behind him creaks a little, and Sander shifts. He stands. 

“Are you okay?” Sander asks quietly. Robbe shakes. “Robbe ━” He murmurs. 

“I can’t ━” He fumbles with his words, and Sander moves a bit closer, and touches his waist lightly, and when Robbe doesn’t jerk away, he’s sliding his arm around him, pulling him close against him. Sander buries his face against the back of Robbe’s shoulder. Robbe lets his eyes close tightly, lets his jaw clench against the fear. 

A minute, and then Robbe is turning around in Sander’s arms, desperate for something. Turning around and latching his arms around Sander’s neck, and  _ hiding _ . 

“I can’t do it ━ I can’t ━ tell them.” He’s saying against Sander’s chest. He hates himself for it because he can’t tell Zoë. He can’t tell Senne. The two people, besides Milan, who have shown some sort of attempt to help him. Everyone else seems to have forgotten he fucking exists.

He wishes, sometimes, that he could forget he existed. 

“You don’t have to, it’s okay. Take your time.” Sander holds him tightly, arms secure around Robbe’s waist. 

“But don’t ━  _ you _ ?” He leaves an unspoken  _ don’t you want to be with me? Open? Out?  _

But then he thinks about his rushed, frantic hands last night, desperately trying to unlock his bike. He thinks about how he was trying to get on his bike and he just wasn’t fucking  _ fast enough _ . 

And he thinks about how much it fucking  _ hurt _ . He shakes against Sander. He tries to muffle his voice, because he can feel the sob threatening to push out of him. 

“Not if you don’t.” Sander tells him. Robbe trembles again. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, again. Sander doesn’t say not to apologize to him, but the words, in their absence, ring in his ears. 

“You should lay down.” Sander says after a few minutes, a few minutes of letting Robbe cling to him and trying not to cry. “It’s good for you to rest.” 

Robbe lets him maneuver him back to bed, still clinging to Sander as he lays back down.

“I’ll put the music back on, alright?” Sander sits up, reaching for his phone and messing with the music, skipping through a couple before he lets the phone fall back to the bed. He lays back down by Robbe, gathering him into his arms, and letting Robbe’s head rest against his chest. Robbe wants to take care of Sander, to let his head rest against Robbe’s chest, to stroke his hair, and kiss his bruises in some vain attempt to hope that would help. But he’s tired, and he’s aching, and ━ he’ll just sleep a little more, and then when he wakes up, he’ll take care of Sander. He can make them lunch, and coffee, and they can watch something, or talk, or ━  _ anything _ . He drifts off to Sander’s whispered singing of Bowie songs.

He wakes up a few hours later to his arms around one of his pillows, latching onto it as if it’s Sander. He wakes up, and immediately notices something is wrong.

“Sander?” He clears his throat, reaching around with his eyes still closed. He opens his eyes, and pushes himself up a bit, and his stomach drops out when he notices the pile of clothes, folded neatly at the end of the bed, when he realizes Sander’s boots are no longer against the wall. “Sander?” He repeats, infinitesimally smaller. It barely makes a dent in the heavy silence of the room. He pushes himself up so he’s sitting. Looks around again. 

There’s a small, ripped piece of paper sitting on the pile of clothes, and he shifts down the bed, crossing his legs and reaching for the paper. 

_ hi cutie :) thanks for letting me borrow your clothes. sorry, i had to leave. you’re beautiful when you sleep. <3  _

Robbe feels everything boiling over; he so wanted Sander to be here when he woke up. He so wanted to spend the rest of the day with Sander, and figure out what the  _ fuck  _ they’re going to do about last night, and he  _ needs  _ him, as pathetic as that sounds. The paper is set back down on the clothes, and he’s falling in on himself, hands covering his face as he rocks forward a little. 

He tries to be rational about it; Sander probably has some sort of obligation, his parents or something, and he didn’t want to wake Robbe. 

But he wants him here.

It takes him a few minutes to unfold himself, and he’s searching for his phone in the room. Finds it, and silently hopes that maybe Sander has texted him since he left. 

He turns it over, and there’s nothing.

He wants to scream. 

_ He can’t breathe, he feels  _ ** _sick_ ** . 

Who cares, who fucking  _ cares  _ about his phone. He tosses it aimlessly onto his bed, before he’s crawling back onto it, curling up with the pillow again, pressing his face into the pillow that Sander had used. 

It’s not long until there’s a knock at his door, and Milan’s voice comes through the crack in the door, “Robbe? How are you doing?” 

“Can you just  _ fuck off _ ?” He regrets his biting words immediately. He hides his face. “I’m sorry, please, can you just leave me alone?” He says quieter. Milan doesn’t say anything, and Robbe wonders if he has left, but he won’t look up.

“Alright. I was just going to let you know that Zoë is making lunch.” Milan says, despite Robbe lashing out. 

“Okay. I’m not hungry, but thank you.” He feels sick, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever  _ stop  _ feeling sick. 

“Alright.” Milan repeats, “There’ll probably be leftovers if you’re hungry later.” Robbe nods, face still buried in his pillow. “We’re here to talk, if you need it.” Milan also offers, before the door closes quietly behind him, and Robbe is left alone with thoughts he can’t stop. 

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @evenbchnsheim  
... might write a saturday morning fix-it thing too.....


End file.
